Zecora's Life Story
by Homage
Summary: Zecora is a wise individual, with much knowledge of plants, animals, and herbal remedies. But much about her is unknown, especially her early life and how she ended up living in the Everfree Forest. This story is entirely told in rhyme, since Zecora is the one speaking and I wanted to keep it sounding authentic. A personal glyph is a zebra's cutie mark (I made up the term).


**Zecora's Life Story**

**by Homage**

For those of you who know me well

My life story I must tell.

I was born in the country of Hoofrica

A land quite far from Equestria.

There are no ponies in this land

Just zebras and giraffes and sand.

Wild beasts there are aplenty

And lions, there are oh so many.

With the body of a griffon, head of a manticore

It's much less dangerous than war.

We do not have your harmony

Much war is fought; it's not pretty.

We have no government, only tribes

A group you're born in, live, and die.

My tribe was called the Zekanik

Our ways, tradition, and laws were strict.

I was born to a wealthy family

My mother, my father, my sisters, and me.

My sisters numbered one through eleven

Right after the middle, I was number seven.

Our village greatly held tradition

And my family idolized religion.

My sisters all became priestesses

Out of woven grass they made their dresses.

My mother was a seer, my father a shaman

My family and I had little in common.

Religion never mattered much to me

The gods rarely help zebra, you see.

Though my father did chant, and my sisters did try

One after another, I watched sick zebra die.

If the goddesses wouldn't help I will

I made it my mission to heal the ill.

I sought out anyzebra I could find

One who was compassionate, wise, and kind.

The stallion who I found

Was an elder, and his knowledge was sound.

I talked with him about my plight

He said, "Try medicine, it will feel right."

I looked at him, I was confused

"I am not sick." He laughed, amused.

"Of course you're not. I merely meant

To make, not take. Come to my tent."

"You may call me Zekrakadii

Welcome, little filly, to my apothecary."

I followed him, he gave me a tour

Of the place where he brews a cure.

He showed me herbs, and potions, and more.

He had quite a lot in his little store.

And while we were talking, a mare came in

Complaining about a rash on her skin.

I took a look, it was quite bad

Boils covered her flank, and so I gagged.

But the old stallion took one peek

"A leper's potion is what you seek.

Cures all skin problems, a special paste

Applied thrice daily, it cures with haste."

I watched the stallion work with such skill

He boiled some water, added wormwood and dill.

"I stir with feathers from an emu

I must use three, not one, not two."

It turned brown, and thick as tar

He poured the mixture into a jar.

He brought the cure to the sick mare

She put it on slowly with care.

No sooner had the potion touched

Her flank that all her boils shrank much.

"To make sure your skin really heals

Apply this after every meal."

The mare was really quite surprised

Her skin was healed before her eyes.

The grateful zebra asked the alchemist

Just how much she owed for this.

His answer surprised both of us

"To cure disease, there is no cost."

The two shook hooves, and then she trotted out

Which left me sitting here, full of doubt.

I told Zekrakadii, "I find it funny

That for doing your job, you receive no money."

His answer came slowly, but sure

"I never charge much for a cure.

That mare was much too poor to pay

So I healed her and sent her on her way."

Regardless of class, health is health

I charge my customers based on wealth.

Other potions, that bring the good

The prices are high, but benefits are understood.

This zebra gave much charity

In our village, this was a rarity.

I was impressed by his potions; I asked

If he could teach me to perform this task.

He smiled, and that was his cue

The next three years I learned everything he knew.

The work was tough, the learning stiff

But it earned me my personal glyph.

For the next five years, at his insistence

I became his personal assistant.

One day, Zekrakadii grew very ill

I tried to make a miracle pill.

He shrugged it off, the wizened sage

There was no cure for his old age.

After he passed, he left to me

His title, and apothecary.

For four more years I ran the place

Healing zebras was often the case.

Unfortunately, it was the law

Priority went to the richest zebra.

Two zebra came in, one poor, one rich

The rich mare, Zekari, demanded a cure for her itch.

The poor stallion's shape was more serious

An advanced case of Syfillylis.

Zeke's coat was brown, and very patchy

His voice was faint and hoarse and scratchy.

He was dying, but because of his class

It was the law I treat him last.

If I'd be caught, I was not sure

But I knew for fact I had a cure.

Syfillylis was deadly, but a simple fix

An antibiotic that I did mix.

No sooner had he drunk it down

That his coat turned back white from brown.

His pains were gone, his head was clear

But never a "thank you" did I hear.

Instead he asked me, "Why me, why now

We'll both be punished if you are found."

"You would have died without my help."

I told the young, ungrateful whelp.

"The rich you must prioritize."

But his harsh words were betrayed by his eyes.

It contradicted what we were told

But I disliked the ways of old.

For that tradition I did not care

To treat the rich first was just unfair.

But with my opinions others disagreed

They had bad thoughts and gossiped about me.

The rumors they spread, their hateful gaze

"Who is this mare to question our ways?"

I was already on thin ice

But I had no chance to do this twice.

For after a month I was put on trial

No pleas for mercy, and no denial.

I took responsibility

"Zeke didn't wish it, the blame's on me."

The elders group and the discussed

A punishment for the dangerous.

It took them a little, neigh, quite a while

But eventually decided on exile.

I was sent out without a belonging

So I looked east, and kept on walking.

Using my knowledge of nature to survive

I looked for a place where I could thrive.

The place I wandered to was best

Inside the Everfree Forest.

Near Ponyville I've lived ten years

But I used to be a cause of fears.

Every month I came to town

To find it empty; nopony was around.

I could not shop, I could not buy

Everypony was scared of my glowing eyes.

The young, the old, the poor, the rich

All of them labeled me a witch.

Because of this, I had been forced

To get supplies from another source.

I lived outside of town, in Everfree

It contained many herbs, I was lucky.

But there were many potions I couldn't brew

To xenophobia the blame was due.

The first pony who ever trusted me

Was little Apple Bloom, the sweet filly.

Because of her, I now can buy

From town, so I maintain supply.

And that is my life story, you see

Why do I rhyme? Now that's a mystery.


End file.
